Of Rules, Prison Camps, and Fresh Air
by Schizzar
Summary: He got into the relationship knowing all about the rules. But sometimes rules are meant to be broken. You can't hide love when its been trying to break free the whole time.


**This particular oneshot has been sitting in my brain for about a month and half now. It's been annoying the crap out of me so finally, here it is! A crack pairing with a serious plot and copious amounts of angst, and a pathetic attempt at fluff.**

**I don't own Fire Emblem.**

**NEW NOTE AS OF 12/11/14: This fic has been censored. To find an uncensored version, please visit my a03 account under the same name. **

Zihark watched as the lithe man stood up, popping his back and then kneeling to grab the cotton trousers he had discarded earlier.

"Naesala," he said, propping himself up on his elbows.

The raven turned and crooked an eyebrow up. "What?"

"I...will you stay here?"

His eyes narrowed. "What, need someone to cuddle?"

Zihark glanced to the side and shook his head. "Just leave."

The raven shrugged on his shirt and left without another word. Zihark flopped back onto the cot, every harsh bite a dull ache on his chest and back. Naesala was not a loving partner, taking only what he wanted and if Zihark got something out of it, he didn't care. The swordmaster was offering just what Naesala wanted. A body to take his anger and frustration out on.

And Zihark had wanted him since they had first met. It was the battle after Reyson had joined, when the Crow King had joined the battle himself. Before they had realized his intentions to talk with Reyson, they had done their best to protect the heron. So when Zihark had seen the deadly laguz heading straight for the frail heron, he had lunged between them and run his sword through Naesala's wing.

It had taken everyone by surprise, and as Reyson knelt beside the bleeding form in the snow, he had begun to change back. Immediately he began to damn Zihark and his family to all sorts of interesting places, cursing and spluttering as Reyson tried to heal him. The night after that battle, Zihark had accosted the raven as he had headed for his new tent.

One hard kiss later and they were tumbling onto Naesala's cot. Afterwards, Naesala set down the firm ground rules. No cuddling. No more kissing. Zihark was only to be a body until he proved to Reyson that he was better than Tibarn. Then they would never speak again. And Zihark had accepted those terms without complaint.

It wasn't that he loved Naesala. No. It was more of Naesala had everything he looked for in a lover. His last serious relationship was with a laguz who had been very demure. She was gorgeous, a cat laguz with long blonde hair and bright green eyes. She never challenged in him in or out of the bedroom, and while he had loved her deeply, when she left him it was almost a relief. Whatever he asked her to do, she did, and when she walked out on the relationship due to the pressure of her family, it was her first decision she had made on her own.

After that, he had tried to find someone who was more independent. A few failed relationships later, he had begun to experiment in men. It was a step in the right direction but no one had fit just right.

Naesala fit. Sure, he could go for a kiss or two, but he'd take what he could get. He knew after the first night he had spent warming the Crow King's bed no one would ever be able to match up to it. But he needed more.

-.-

"This is the last time," Naesala said as he walked towards the tent flap. "I had a few rules for this...relationship of ours. You didn't follow them."

"Why? Why the rules?" Zihark asked.

The king's wings pulled in tight. "You're a human. Your uses are limited."

Zihark snorted. "Yeah, okay. I almost killed you when we first met."

Naesala whirled around, an eyebrow crooked up. "You weren't even close. Goodbye Zihark."

Zihark watched the laguz leave, wondering if it would be the last time he saw him.

Four years. Four very long years since they had freed Crimea and released Daein to pick itself up from the rubble. Not that they were given a chance, with the occupying forces taking all the men capable of real work and fighting and sending them to work camps. Which was where he was now, limbs half frozen from the cold, his once well-trained muscles gone due to being overworked with barely any food. He knew the signs, had watched them play out again and again over the past few years.

He was dying.

It was a miserable way to go really. Slow and painful, and not a warrior'ss death in the slightest. If he had enough energy to be angry, he would be. As it was, he could barely make it out of the thin tent he shared with ten other men, and his ribs were so prominent, he was almost overcome with despair at the sight.

That morning, he knew it was his last. His limbs were shaking too hard, he couldn't stand, and even when his tent-mates helped him to his feet, he only fell down when they let him go. With sad expressions, they said goodbye and left the tent, no doubt to inform the Begnion soldier in charge of their camp that he wasn't going to be working that day.

And like all the others before him, he would be whipped to death for not working. It wouldn't take long. At this point he would bleed out fast. His vision was darkening as a low murmuring reached his ears, but he couldn't say anything in protest as two soldiers hauled him up, roughly dragging him across the snow covered dirt outside his tent.

When he was released, he hit the ground without a noise, pressing his forehead to the ground. He was dimly aware of someone yelling at him, and then there was the hot splatter of something along his neck. Curious, he swiped at it with a trembling hand, turning his face to see the red blood, bright on his dirty fingers. Another turn of his head showed the Begnion general lying on the ground, his throat ripped out.

"You idiot human."

The last thing he was aware of was two strong, familiar arms wrapping around his shriveled form.

-.-

When he woke, he couldn't move. He was bundled in a swath of blankets that were too much for his weakened arms to move. The light streaming in from the window was cut off by an angular face, framed by the arches of dark wings.

"You're awake. I was really hoping you would just die, but I guess I'll have to take care of you now." Harsh black eyes stared mockingly down at him. "No response?"

He shook his head; it was all he had the energy left to do. If he could talk, he could have his questions answered, but as it was...well he could only hope the Crow would tell him out of sheer boredom.

"Why did I even bother?" Naesala turned his back. "Guess I thought it would be a shame to see someone like you go down like that."

He was aware of the crow's voice still speaking even as his vision dimmed and he slipped away once more.

-.-

Next time he woke, Reyson was at his beside, a bowl of soup and a cup of water in his hands. The heron placed them on the night stand and then gently tugged him into a sitting position.

"You're more frail than I've ever been," Reyson said. "And it's not like Naesala's the best nurse in the world." The heron held the clay cup to his lips, and he took one small sip, the coolness of the water burning all the way down to his stomach.

He instantly felt like retching, but after a moment, the feeling left away. Reyson was humming the Gildr, soothing his body so he could accept the nutrients offered. Next came the soup, but Reyson didn't stop the sweet melody as he was fed and he tried to convey his thanks with his expression. The heron refused to look at him, and once he had eaten and drank what he could, he left. Moments later, sleep took him once more.

-.-

Over the next few days, Reyson continued to feed him, and had even helped him to the bathroom to wash up. It was the first time he had gotten a genuine wash in awhile, and to say it felt like heaven would be a gross understatement. And still, Naesala never returned. He was confused, but asking Reyson seemed like a bad idea, as even though the heron was helping him, he didn't seem thrilled to be doing so.

"Leanne thinks you should go for walk," Reyson said one day, as he finished his lunch. "You won't regain your muscle tone until you start being active again."

"Okay. Where do you suggest I go?" Zihark pushed himself to his feet. His legs were weak, but steady, and that was more than enough to him. Experience told him that even if his legs tried to give out, will power could keep him standing.

"There's a garden, down the hall. You can exit through the arch. The crows are ordered not to antagonize you, but," Reyson shrugged. "You know how they are."

"Thanks for the warning," Zihark said, using the wall for support as he made his way towards the door.

The hallway was full of fresh air. The wall bordering the garden had high arched openings at waist level, so the air carrying the sent of flowers flowed freely through. It made him want to weep. For years, all he could smell around him was illness and death, and when he had been trapped in the small room, all he could smell was the stale air of his own sickness. This was more refreshing than the food and the bath combined.

The walk to the archway that led to the garden was long, his shuffling steps slow and deliberate. He didn't want to overreach himself and end up crashing to the ground without anyone around to help him up. Grass folded beneath his bare feet as he took his first step into the garden.

It was wonderfully maintained, likely due to the herons. Imagine Naesala toiling beneath the sun to maintain the hedges and flowers provided the swordmaster with an image to laugh at as he explored. The laguz was far too impatient for such work.

After a time, he sat, finally giving in to the desires of his weary legs. He was surrounded by tall bushes, flowers blooming on all of them in bursts of color. With a sigh, he flopped onto his back, and for a time he watched the clouds float by, enjoying the feel of the sun on his skin. It had been too long since he had truly relaxed.

He didn't even notice when sleep overtook him.

-.-

When he woke, his head was cushioned on someone's lap, fingers working through a chunk of his hair to create a braid. Turning his head up, he started, surprised to see Leanne smiling down at him.

"Sick heart. N-not sick now," she said, smile growing.

Zihark pushed himself into a sitting position to turn and face her, realizing that she had known he had been feeling sick and trapped in his little room. "Thank you. It was your suggestion, wasn't it?"

She nodded, beaming. "Fresh air d-does good."

"Zihark."

The smile on his face flattened when he heard Naesala's voice. "Hello."

"Leanne, if you could leave us. Please."

Leanne's lower lip popped out in a pout, but she obeyed, drifting away from him and taking his peace with her. For the first time in years, he had been feeling safe and at ease, but Naesala's presence put him on edge once more. Would he be abused, ridiculed? Or would the Crow King apologize?

The tall laguz took his time reaching him, and even then he did not sit, choosing to tower above him, no doubt aware that Zihark would have a difficult time standing. Asserting his dominance.

"When you can take care of yourself, you will leave," Naesala said, folding his arms across his chest. There was nothing malicious in his tone, but it was apparent he was not be argued with.

Not that Zihark cared.

"And go where? Back to Daein?" he asked. "Back to the camps?  
>"I don't care," Naesala said. The words held no anger, and for once when he looked into the laguz's dark eyes, he saw nothing but obsidian stone staring back at him.<p>

Something had changed. Naesala was hiding behind a wall of indifference, and he had to break it. It could very well be his only chance. If Naesala sent him away this time, he doubted they'd ever meet again, and he couldn't stand for that. The Crow King had dragged him back from death's cold grip for a reason, and he wasn't leaving until he found out what it was.

"I don't think you mean that," Zihark finally said. "You flew all the way out to a Daein prison camp for a reason, and you know me better. You know I'm not going to let you walk away without telling me why."

"You want a reason?" Naesala's arrogant smirk was made cruel by his harsh eyes. "The reason I don't care if you die is because I have never cared about you."

"Then why did you save me?"

Naesala pursed his lips and didn't reply, instead turning on his heel and walking away. Zihark struggled to his feet and started to follow after him, though by the time he got back to the hallway, the Crow King was nowhere in sight. Cursing under his breath, he made his way back to his room.

-.-

Zihark got up from his stretching, shaking out each of his legs. It had been two weeks since his conversation with Naesala, and he was finally beginning to fill out. He was nowhere near his old strength, but his daily stretches and light workouts were helping. Soon, he would have to leave.

"I see you're feeling better," Reyson said.

The swordmaster turned, not having heard the heron come in. "Yeah. I guess I'll be leaving soon."

"There's something you should know, before you do," Reyson said.

Zihark tensed. "I'm sorry in advance. I know you didn't want to take care of me."

Reyson crooked a slim blond eyebrow up. "You honestly thought I was here to yell at you?"

"You haven't seemed all that happy to be around me lately," Zihark said with a shrug. "Well, if you don't hate me, what is it that you wanted to say?"

"I told Naesala to go find you. I received news from a hawk spy that the Begnion army was taking the men off to prison camps and working them to death. Janaff happened to mention he saw a familiar face, you, and I decided to tell Naesala. I was aware of your relationship during the war and I thought he would want to save you," Reyson said.

"Well, you thought wrong," Zihark said, a smile on his lips despite the words.

"You forget, beorc, that I can see into anyone's heart," Reyson said. "He's missed you ever since he cut off ties with you. I was aware that he had love for me, but it was not as strong as he thought it was. He is very much in love with you."

Zihark tilted his head to the side. "Is that why you've seemed grumpy with me?"

Reyson laughed. "No, not at all. I've been angry with Naesala as of late, insisting on denying his own emotions, and any anger you thought was directed towards you...well, it was unintended. "

"Good to know," Zihark said. "I was worried." The swordmaster glanced away for a moment, then back to him. "You know, for awhile, back during the war, I hated you. I wanted to be the one Naesala loved."

"Well he loves you. So I suggest you go do something about it before he turns into a stubborn mule again and refuses to talk about you," Reyson said.

"In case you haven't noticed, in the past two weeks, we haven't seen each other," Zihark said.

Reyson grinned, expression coy as he reached into the folds of his robes and produced a key. "He's in the upper most east tower. He's been there for quite sometime, and I doubt he'll be leaving. It'll be a nice workout for you."

Zihark snatched the key out of his hand, unable to keep a light scowl out of his expression. "Thanks. I would just love to walk up that many stairs."

"If you truly loved him, you'd do anything," Reyson called down the hallway as he began his long journey towards the tower.

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

-.-

Zihark leaned against the now unlocked door, trying to catch his breath. His chest heaved from the trip up the stairs, and he knew that Naesala could hear him through the door, he knew it, but he didn't bother to conceal it. What came next would be up to the Crow King entirely, and it couldn't hurt to give him a moment to think about it. Served him right to stew over what he was going to say.

And maybe he needed a little time to think of _what_ to say.

Finally, he pushed the heavy door open. The tower was open, no walls or roof, just a small brick edge that one could easily step over without thinking about it. Naesala stood near the edge and didn't bother to face him. The wind was a light breeze, carrying the taste of the ocean on it.

"I talked to Reyson. I'm going to give you a chance to guess what he told me before I start yelling at you," Zihark said.

"Watch your mouth," Naesala said, turning to face him. "I took care of you, I saved you. It wouldn't be quite right of you to criticize me after all of that."

"You're one to talk. So, not going to guess?" Zihark asked.

Naesala stared at him.

"Well, he said you cared for me. Which is odd, because I remember you saying the opposite, so you must've been lying. After all, Reyson can see into people's souls," Zihark said. His words were quick, and he could see a reaction, finally a reaction, in the Crow King's eyes.

"They have got to stop doing that without permission," Naesala said. "Look, I'm not interested. Leave."

"I'm not leaving until you admit to yourself, and me, why you bothered to save my life," Zihark said.

Naesala strode towards him, anger sparking in his eyes. "I don't give a damn about-"

"You are such a broken record," Zihark interrupted. "I love you, you stupid flea-bitten crow. There, I said it. Now you say it."

Naesala recoiled at his words, the shock evident on his face. "What?"

"Don't tell me you didn't realize it after all the things we did? Did you really not notice," Zihark stepped towards him, narrowing the gap between them before Naesala could back away. "That I am madly in love with you?"

Naesala's eyes darted to the side. "I figured there was a reason you were so insistent on kissing me. But I don't think you understand." His dark gaze fixed on his again. "I'm a king. I need to protect my people above all else. I can't go running after you to protect you."

"Then why did you?" Zihark asked, tone challenging.

"Because I love you too, dammit!" Naesala's voice was loud, echoing around them as he shoved Zihark away.

Zihark tried to stay standing, he really did. Instead he toppled right over, wishing the ground would swallow him up. He had been doing such a good job at convincing Naesala to finally talk, and now...well, he certainly wasn't intimidating as he had hoped to be.

Naesala swallowed thickly, staring down at him. "I cannot believe I let you get under my skin."

"I have a habit of doing that," Zihark said as he reached a hand up. "Help me up?"

Naesala grabbed his hand to help him up, only to drop it a moment later as if burned. "Happy now?"

"That you love me? Yes. Very happy. Thrilled in fact," Zihark said. "But what bugs me is that you're probably going to kick me out anyways, then ignore me and pretend I never existed."

"Sounds about right."

"Well, I'd hate to be you, because I'm not letting that happen," Zihark said. "I've been cheated out of love before because other people were scared. I'm not letting you push me away."

Naesala's eyes narrowed as they locked gazes, their stances mirror images of each other. Arms folded, shoulders back, legs locked. Zihark wasn't entirely sure how long they stayed like that, staring one another down, but after a time, Naesala's shoulders went slack and he glanced to the side.

"Dammit," he said quietly. "How you do this to me..."

"You're stuck with me," Zihark said.

"I don't know what I'm doing," Naesala said. "Casual fucks, those are normal. This?" He waved his hand around to articulate his thoughts, then let his arm drop to his side. "I hate not knowing what I'm doing."

"So let's figure it out together," Zihark said, taking another step closer. They were only a few inches apart now.

Naesala stared down at him. "Okay."

Zihark hesitated only a moment before he pushed himself to claim Naesala's lips. The kiss was gentle, not at all like the rough, almost violent, interactions they had in the past. It was a side Zihark had longed to see from the other, but had thought he'd be doomed to go on without.

"You're an idiot," Naesala murmured against his lips, only to press closer, his tongue sliding in to dominate his mouth.

Zihark's legs were shaking, not from nerves or pleasure, but from the sheer amount of work he had put them through. Naesala's arm wrapped around his waist, tugging him closer as he thoroughly tasted the swordmaster, and offering the support he could tell the beorc was lacking. The swordmaster sagged into him gratefully, leaning against his chest when Naesala broke the kiss.

"I still want to throw you off the edge of this tower in a fit of childish frustration and rage," Naesala said.

"Sure, but only if you promise to catch me," Zihark said with a shrug.

Naesala's eyebrow quirked up. "You trust me that much?"

"Yeah," Zihark said. "I have to. I don't go around loving just anyone after all."

A dangerous smirk broke out over the Crow King's face, and Zihark would have been delighted to see the laguz expressing his true emotions again, if it weren't for the fact that he knew just what that smirk meant.

"Ever wanted to know what it's like to fly?"

"Not really," Zihark said.

"Too bad."

Zihark whirled out of his grip, urging his shaking legs to carry him away from the laguz, only to have Naesala's arm wrap around his waist and hoist him into the air, wings flapping noisily as he lifted them up.

"I am going to die," Zihark said, locking his arms tight around the Crow King's neck and refusing to look at the sea below.

"I guess you'll just have to trust I won't drop you," Naesala said, voice soft.

Zihark looked up at him. He was wearing a startlingly serious expression, and it was in that moment Zihark knew that they were both in whatever relationship they had started for the long haul. As he drew the man's head down for another kiss, he found he was quite all right with that.


End file.
